


Chicken Soup for the Serial Killer's Soul

by Anonymous



Category: Sharp Objects (TV), True Detective
Genre: Attempted Murder, F/M, Future Fic, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It had taken years before Amma felt like she could start to repent for what she had done.
Relationships: Amma Crellin/Rust Cohle
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: Anonymous, Rare Pairs Exchange 2020





	Chicken Soup for the Serial Killer's Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/gifts).



It had taken years before Amma felt like she could start to repent for what she had done. She couldn't have done it without Rust. She often didn't feel worthy of him--he contained such untapped depths of wisdom, and his moustache was very hot.

She was so grateful for her sister. Camille had gone out of her way to rehabilitate her, after she figured out that Amma had done all the murders. She could have called the cops, but instead she called a source from an old story—a man named Rust Cohle. He was involved with some serial killer stuff down south. Amma never asked about it much. Rust never answered. 

It seemed at first like Camille hadn’t want to look at Amma. Amma was so filled with hate, that she didn’t want to look at herself. The only person who would sit down and be with Amma, just be, with no regard for trying to reform her or make her better, was Rust. 

"You know, Amma—I’ve learned a lot in my years. And a wise man once taught me something I’ll never forget. Back in the day, I’d read highfalutin philosophers who were more concerned with sounding smart than making people feel good. Nowadays, after everything that happened—the only thing holding back _my_ darkness is chicken soup." 

At the time, she had looked at him with scorn. She missed her dollhouse, she missed the toxic affection of her mother and the simpering weakness of Camille. There had been so much to eat back home, and it was so much more nourishing to the soul than Rust’s chicken soup. 

But Rust just lit a cigarette and got to cooking. He carefully diced up the mirepoix—carrots, onions, and celery before sautéing them in a little oil. She found herself fascinated by watching him debone the chicken and roast the bones—they were so different than the teeth of little children. 

"You’ll see," Rust said, when he saw her fascination with the splintering bird bones. "It’s like the great scholar Jack Canfield always said, "'Keep in mind that part of growing up is dealing with difficult issues, and the benefits can be great if you have the courage to ask for help.'"

She scoffed, but as she watched him finish cooking, she kept the words playing in her mind. Once the stock was made, he used garlic, ginger, and fresh turmeric, which gave the whole kitchen an attractive and earthy scent. To those aromatics, he added fresh herbs—she wasn’t an expert, but she thought they were rosemary & thyme. He was careful to ash his cigarette well away from the bubbling soup, now full of chicken pickings and Israeli couscous, but she was fascinated enough by his adult masculinity that she wouldn’t have minded learning what the inside of his mouth tasted like. She watched with no small amount of glee when he actually dropped the whole cigarette in the pot, before sheepishly fishing it out.

When they ate the soup, she stared at him. She considered making soup of him—that wasn’t something she’d ever done, but now that he showed her how, maybe he could try it. If Camille was going to fob her off to some random even though she’d done all those murders, it’s possible she’d have to escalate. 

"You think you’re a bad person, don’t you. You’re like a memory of a little girl—what your mama thought a little girl should be like. There’s so much wisdom in this world," he said. "I know I keep going back to him, but Jack Canfield really had the right way of it—'Babies don’t walk the first time they try, but eventually they get it right." 

"Camille said you were smart," she said, sounding skeptical. "One of the smartest cops she’d ever met."

Rust barked a laugh. "What you don’t know is that’s no kinda compliment. But, even still. It’s a foolish mind who mistakes goodheartedness for optimism. I went through shit you couldn’t even imagine, girlie. And here I am." He raised his arms demonstratively. "You see me, don’t you?"

She saw him, but he wasn’t like anything she understood. 

That night, the whole little house still smelled of chicken soup. She lay in the dark, thinking about where she was and what had happened to her, how silly and boring everything was. She made a decision. Sneaking out of the guest room, she made her way down to the kitchen and stole a butcher’s knife. It was in the third drawer to the left of the sink, right where Rust left it. 

She crept into his room. He was snoring lightly on his bed, sleeping on his back. Above his head on the wall was a cross, and there was a stack of Chicken Soup for the Soul books he was using as a nightstand. 

Amma made to leap on him, but as quick as a whip, he had her pinned on the floor, the knife in her hand pulled away from him. She struggled, she got nowhere—after all, he was a grown man and she was just a girl. 

His eyes were so intent when they looked down at her, and she tried to simper and pout. "I was just trying to play a game," she said. 

He scoffed. "I’m not a fool, girlie. I’ve slayed bigger monsters than you, and seen little girls go bad. I’m one of the wolves holding back the darkness. But I can get you through this—I know I can. You just have to decide to want the love that’s beyond the darkness." 

She undulated her hips aiming to tease him. "Oh yeah? What kind of love?" 

His eyes lit with a strange fire and he leaned down and kissed her. "I will show you all the love I can," he said intently. "And you will come out the other side a changed woman." 

He stuck his tongue in her mouth and on it, she tasted chicken soup.


End file.
